


Two Years

by LinkHeichou



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Flashbacks, I honestly felt tears while writing this, Inspired by Fanart, Loss, M/M, Memories, Post-Loss, it's 4 am and I'm feeling so hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 02:32:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8185876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LinkHeichou/pseuds/LinkHeichou
Summary: Two years. It's been two years since Jesse's death, and Hanzo was left with only one thing in his memory.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there!! it's approximately 5 am and I'm supposed to be sleeping but instead I decided to shoot myself with feelings lmao
> 
> inspired by [this art.](http://nesy-art.tumblr.com/post/150934632222/rngrn-had-this-idea-about-hanzo-and-mccree)
> 
> enjoy this trash lmao
> 
> \- Alix

Two years.

It’s been two years since Jesse’s death. His hat still has his scent; the scent of hundreds of cigars burned down to the head, a hint of Cologne he’d wear on their dates. If he could take in the smell long enough, he might even smell the aroma of their various love making. Not that his lungs could take in that much, however. He’s grown old; his birthday is coming up soon. He hasn’t invited anyone he knew, not that he would have a party anyway.

Hanzo was 45 when they left Overwatch; Jesse, a year younger. The cowboy always had this dream of leaving Overwatch and taking Hanzo with him, take him far away from everything. From the troubles, war, death; something out of a cheesy romance novel. It sounded ludicrous to the Japanese; one of them – or both – would be found and have to return eventually.

And that's what happened – they found Jesse. He had to go on a mission, Jesse told him. It was important. Hanzo couldn't – no, shouldn't – come. “’s for the best, darlin’,” his voice echoes. He remembers the night before his deployment, the last time Hanzo would see his Jesse. The cowboy decided he wanted to make love with him one last time; it seemed like it went on for hours. It might have, his mind was too fuzzy with the lust and passion. He does remember looking out the window after they were finished, the sun slowly peeking over the horizon. He remembers the gentle and soft touches, the butterfly kisses on his cheek, his neck, shoulder, his _lips_.

Hanzo feels his hand against his lips. His eyes now in focus, in reality. He was spacing out; typical. He looks down at his lap, his other hand clutching the cowboy hat that once belonged to the cowboy, now his. It was the only thing that recovered from the blast, they had told him. It looks like it wasn’t even _touched_ by said blast; there is no burn or scratch, it looks the same as it did the last time he saw it, hanging from the hook near the front door. He forces the hand against his lips down to embrace the hat, the cool metal that encircled the band grazing his fingertips.

He forgot the time. How long was he sitting here? He looked up from the hat, glancing around the room; Jesse put a clock in so Hanzo wouldn’t forget. He then hears the digital tune of chimes, whirling around to find the source. There it is; the hands both on 12. He hears Jesse’s voice echo his favorite saying in the deep parts of his mind. _“It’s high noon.”_

He then forgets the date. Foolish; a man his age should be wise enough to know the date. He stands up, his blood circulating in his legs again. His hand embraces the crown of the hat, walking out of the room to find the calendar hanging somewhere in the house. He locates it, on the right side of the fridge, facing the living room. December 15th, 2085. Two years ago, they would have told him Jesse was MIA. There was an explosion on base, they didn't know who survived. Everyone he called friends and family had the same status. Two weeks later, they would return to him with only one thing. Not Jesse, but the hat. The hat that he poked so many jokes into just to push the cowboy’s buttons. The hat that never seemed to come off his head, except when forced off. The hat that made Jesse, Jesse.

It was the only thing that could only remind him of the American. They couldn’t recover Peacekeeper, it might have been destroyed. No way they would've recovered that damn revolver. His serape that Hanzo often stole when he wasn’t looking was burned from the explosion, the rest of them were buried with him on his request. Then, the note. That damn note. 

_“I want you to have this, Hanzo. Keep this in memory of me if I don’t come back home to you._

_See you soon & love you lots!  
-Jesse”_

He didn’t cry about the news of Jesse’s death. He couldn’t, he _wouldn’t_. If Jesse were there, he would’ve told him _“Don’t cry, sweetheart. Don’t worry your pretty little head ‘bout it, it’s alright.”_ Besides, he’s seen too much death to mourn a loss. He’s seen death for as long as he could remember. He understood the concept for much longer. He was almost at his end himself. The only thing he said to them was, “Thank you for bringing this to me,” with a bow and shut the door. He didn’t, he won’t.

“I love you, Jesse,” Hanzo mutters to the hat, as if it was his cowboy. Silence replies. He brings the hat close to his face, his sense of smell taking in the scent of the hat, the scent of him. He holds it there for a moment before bringing it back down to his side, taking it to the hook near the front door and hung it on there. “I will always love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> you feelin my pain yet lmao
> 
> feedback is appreciated!! tysm for reading :)


End file.
